


The Rumor Affair

by amber_armedheart



Series: The Growing Affair [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pre-Relationship, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 08:47:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8483053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amber_armedheart/pseuds/amber_armedheart
Summary: There’s a rumor going around the office.





	1. Act I

_“ **There’s a rumor going around the office.** ”_

That’s how Illya Kuryakin began to address an issue which he had been evading for the past few weeks. And the fact that he dared to discuss it in the middle of the night, while sharing a bed with his partner in a small hotel in Brussels, should have been sufficient indication to Napoleon Solo that the situation was much more serious than what the blond hinted. Certainly, the Soviet agent had never shown interest in the comments exchanged within the premises of UNCLE, but if Napoleon felt the tone of uncertainty from his partner as he spoke, he made no comment to reference it.

“Hmm? What rumor? "It was all he said as he turned to see the man who occupied the other side of the bed.

"According to Miss Rogers, fellow agents believe that we have a relationship.” The words were chosen carefully and spoken with the characteristic simplicity of Illya, who was lying on his back and watched closely some particular point in the ceiling reasonable of the room.

Napoleon, who until then had been in a state between sleep and lucidity finally rubbed his eyes and cleared his throat. “Well, it was about time they learned,” said the American with a slight smile, “but I think that taking five years to realize that Mr. Waverly assigned us as partners is something that I would not want THRUSH to know. It would be embarrassing to spread the slow, uh, thinking of certain agents of our organization. ”

While Napoleon’s comment progressed, the expression on the Russian’s face changed from surprise to discomfort up to disbelief when he noticed that his partner was not pulling his leg. Obviously, he had not managed to convey his concern.

“I mean, they think you and I are involved in a -” Illya paused to find a word that would make Napoleon understand what he meant. “- relationship beyond the strictly professional.”

“Certainly, but it is not a secret that I consider my best friend -”

“They think we are _lovers_ ,” Illya finally snapped and turned his eyes to the man.

“Oh.” And that was all that Napoleon Solo, Number One from Section Two of UNCLE, could say after several moments while he stared at his partner, his mind wandering elsewhere.

The Russian noticed this and let go a long sigh after he shrugged and smiled calmly. “I thought you might be interested to know why the secretaries have returned only sullen faces at your insinuations lately.”

That said, the man mumbled a simple ‘good night’ and turned to go back to sleep, leaving his perplexed companion staring at a suddenly interesting point at the wall across the room.


	2. Act II

**“** ** _Many lies have been told about me_ -** **”**  

Napoleon Solo stated gravely as he leaned on Miss Lisa Rogers’ desk, both hands placed firmly on top of it. It was supposed to look almost menacing, but Rogers knew the man well enough to know with what she could get away. “- but none as damaging to my reputation as the current one.”

The agent-turned-secretary glanced at the man from the corner of her eye, just to calmly return to her papers with half a smirk. “Did somebody say you are already married, again?” The woman asked, not looking at him.

Napoleon, being the man he was, straightened up and crossed both arms over his chest. “I am talking about the rumor related to Illya and me.”

“There are several rumors about Illya and you,” Lisa replied and finally turned her attention to him. There was a playfulness in her eyes that was quite well hidden when Mister Waverly asked for her services, but right now as she revised different reports and spoke to the top agent of the organization it was out on display. “You will have to be more specific.”

The thought of several more rumors of undisclosed nature about him and Illya made Napoleon panic for a fraction of a second. What were they about? What kind of otherworldly ideas could idle minds come up with? But those were topics for another time; right now, the problem at hand demanded his whole attention.

“ _The_ rumor about Illya and I being in a _romantic relationship_.”

“I don’t know what your source said, but nobody has mentioned anything of the sort,” the woman stated, shrugging, and Napoleon raised a brow.

“No?”

“No, it was said you two were doing the “ _hanky panky_ ”. Nobody said anything about romance,” Lisa commented casually with a wicked grin on her face.

If Napoleon had more strength in his hand, he could have probably facepalmed to the back to his skull at the implication. So, they thought they were having sex. Alright. But the words Lisa utilized were not ones he was used to hear from her, so that meant the person spreading the rumor pronounced them that way.

“Who did you hear expressing it in such a, uh, classy way?” The agent asked trying, although, failing to disguise the glare from his eyes. 

Lisa looked up to the ceiling, as if to remember something she had witnessed before. “I believe it was number 14… wait, Napoleon!” 

But before Lisa had a chance to talk Solo out of his anger, the man had already walked briskly out the door and gone down the corridor.


	3. Act III

**_Mark Slate was a dead man walking._ **

Yet, as he walked down the hallway which lead to U.N.C.L.E.’s headquarters cafeteria, he did so with a little spring in his steps and a sappy smile on his lips, unaware of the dark, angry form approaching from a distance.

Said form, which could have easily been trailed by a gray raincloud, was none other than Napoleon Solo, who had inquired in his haste about Mark’s whereabouts and the moment he knew where to find him, rushed to the cafeteria right after his prey.

Mark had barely made his way to the line, when he felt the presence looming behind him and with a startled - yet dissimulated gasp - turned to the fellow agent.

“Napoleon, you scared me - ”

“A word. In private. _Now_.” 

And the tone the agent used in his voice let Mark know that whatever he had in mind to discuss had to be of incredible seriousness, otherwise the man would not be killing him with his eyes. Not that Napoleon was capable of actually killing someone with his eyes, but he was close enough. Maybe he had learned that one from Kuryakin, he looked more likely to achieve such an inconceivable task.

Those were the thoughts that crossed Mark’s mind as he accompanied Napoleon to the hallway. It was a curious thing that it was empty when they reached it, but the agent had no chance to comment on it as he was almost shoved in one of the offices. 

“I’ve been informed by a reliable source,” Napoleon stated calmly but Mark shivered at the evident anger barely contained underneath the surface, “that you have been spreading rumors about me.”

Mark blinked a few times, not really following his fellow agent’s train of thought. Napoleon noticed this and stated his case, again.

“Rumors about the kind of relationship I have with my partner.”

“Oh, those rumors!” Mark exclaimed, a bit too happily for Napoleon’s tase, or at least that seemed the case, because the next thing Mark knew he had been cornered against the wall and Napoleon had murder in his eyes. So he quickly raised both hands and shook his head harshly. “No, no, no! I mean, I’ve heard those rumors, but I didn’t start them. You have to believe me, Napoleon. I would never spread such things without evidence.”

“Then, where did you hear that?”

Mark hesitated for a moment, visibly torn apart by the options: he could tell Napoleon and then get killed by the person who shared such sensitive information with him, or he could keep the name to himself and be confronted with Napoleon’s rage. Either way ended up with him beaten up, so he went the safest way he could. 

“If I told you, I would need a new name and a passport to Bahamas.”

Napoleon expression eased at the words and after a few seconds of pondering the man’s words, he nodded understandingly and in a quick stride left the room. 

That, it seemed, was all the information Napoleon Solo needed.


	4. Act IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon's struggle is real.

**_The world was a better place with April Dancer in it._ **

That was what Napoleon Solo had to remind himself with every single step he took towards  the R&D area of UNCLE. He had deduced the identity of the gossiper when he heard Mark speak so decisively; there was only one person Mark feared enough to make a run for the hills… He supposed only Illya and Waverly had that effect on himself, but then again, Mark seemed to be awfully scared by female nature. Those were his thoughts as he came upon the figure of April, who was trying on a new pair of shoes with hidden needles carrying a powerful tranquilizer. Not the most appropriated moment to approach her, but if anything, Napoleon Solo was known for his bravery in times of great despair.

"Napoleon! Long time no see," the woman greeted him cheerfully. "How you like my new shoes? The old ones got broken in Egypt. Terrible loss."

"They look quite good," the man replied politely, eyeing the technician dutifully helping April with the heels. "But I am not here to discuss your, uh, fashion choices."

April looked quite interested in the shoes as she moved her feet around, seemingly admiring the way the leather glimmered under the laboratory lights. Still, she looked at him after a moment, tilting her head in question. "What is it that you want to talk about?"

"Uh," Napoleon began to say and took the chance to step a bit closer the moment the lab technician moved to the back to take care of some notes, "a particular piece of information has been brought to my attention recently. One that seems to… involve both my partner and me. "

"Oh, which one?" She asked calmly and Napoleon observed mortified, almost cheerfully.

His face almost contorted in fear, Napoleon Solo allowed himself a moment of fear which didn't happen that often in his everyday life, considering his line of work.

"What do you mean, 'which one'? Everyone keeps pointing out there's more than one rumor going through the grapevine and, believe me, I have fought with all my willpower to stay focused on this one but it is impossible with everyone repeating once and again that this isn't a one time situation. So please, tell me, what is it that the UNCLE rumor mill has been concocting about Illya and I?"

A deep sigh and a few dismissals later, and Napoleon had accompanied April to her office, where he sat awkwardly in a terribly uncomfortable chair. He made a quick mental note to ask for new furniture for her and Mark's office and then proceeded to wait for her explanation.

"Alright then," she began with a easy smile and shrugged. "To be entirely honest with you, there have always been several rumors about you and Illya since I can remember. I believe some were about you two not really getting along…"

"Seriously?"

"Some others about how Illya was secretly a double agent - "

"Is people really paying any attention these days?" Napoleon interrupted her, annoyed. That was one rumor that had previously reached his ears, and which he had procured to erase from every single one of his coworkers' minds. Unfortunately, it looked like it had persisted despite his best efforts.

"I am just saying what I've heard!" She excused herself and even went as far as raising her hands up in the air. "You see, with you two being the top team in the organization, it was to be expected that rumors would follow you around."

Napoleon pressed the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes, a headache threatening to make itself present. "Yes, but what wasn't expected was that people would speculate about the nature of my relationship with Illya."

"Well, people either say you secretly hate each other or..."

An eyebrow arched at her and he waited for the continuation of the discourse.

"...or that you get along a lot better than any other team around. Close. I mean, _closer_ than most. Probably **_the closest_** in the New York branch?"

"April," warned Napoleon, even if he watched her cheeks turning red.

"Alright, alright! Geez, you really are something! It is said you two are sleeping together, some go as far as to say you actually live together. Isn't it fun?"

"How can that be fun? Who is coming up with these things? How is it that our agents have enough free time in their hands to entertain themselves with such absurd notions?"

Another shrug as April took a mirror and lipstick from her drawer and began to retouch her makeup, innocently looking at him from the corner of her eyes.

"Oh, you believe it was me who started it, that's why you are here?"

"Aren't you?"

"Oh, no. As much as I like the idea, I know you two are not a couple at the moment. I am just a messenger for the higher powers. It keeps the bets rolling, you see."

Napoleon's brain short-circuited that instant not believing what she was saying and as Mark entered the office, freezing in place with just one look from his partner, he completely understood the dread that came from knowing a full-blown storm was about to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's another chapter, with Napoleon getting closer to the truth and fearing what it will be like in the end. Will our favorite casanova be happy? Will the world implode? Will Lisa win a bet? Is Mark gonna move to Egypt? Is Illya secretly wearing expensive hair products? Stay tuned to find out the answer to some of these intriguing and entirely important questions! And as usual, send me any comments to my tumblr @notdushka <3


	5. Act V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Napoleon finds answers and the rest of the world gets a lot more questions.

"What is it, Mr. Solo?"

Alexander Waverly asked with an almost tired voice, metal-rimmed eyeglasses resting on his nose as he scribbled some notes on a blank page. It wasn't the way Napoleon had pictured his quest for the truth to be over,  speaking calmly with his boss in his office as the other man stared at him like a stubborn child who refused to go to bed on Christmas eve.

"I am sorry, sir," he looked at the man with an apologetic smile and shrugged lightly. "I see you are busy. I'll come at a different time -"

"Nonsense, I can take a few minutes off; I've been reviewing these reports all morning . Mr. Slate and Miss Dancer got back from El Cairo yesterday and, well, as you will see in tomorrow's debriefing it wasn't a nice affair. Now, what is the matter that brings you to my office?"

A long sigh and Napoleon absentmindedly ran both hands over his tie as he sat down; that had become a habit whenever he felt something serious was about to happen. This, his mind provided, seemed to be the case. He couldn't remember the last time such a sense of dread had been over his head… probably the last time was in that very office, the time Waverly had informed him that Illya was to become his partner. He had felt uneasy at the time, not knowing what kind of person Illya was, but trusting his boss' judgement; if he thought about it, Waverly's decisions concerning him had always been spot on. Probably the man knew him better than he knew himself.

"This might sound a bit…" And Napoleon had to try his best to make it seem as if the rumors weren't affecting him as much as they were. "... _superfluous_ , considering the nature of our work, but I have been, uh, informed that there are certain rumors circulating in the office concerning my relationship with my partner."

Waverly, looking at him with a considerable amount of amusement, rested back on his chair with a long sigh leaving his lips. "I am well aware of many different rumors that circulate the office, Mr. Solo, not only about your person but about all of my agents; I wouldn't be doing my  job if I didn't know the kind of activities that attract the attention of the people around me. I would have thought you, as a top agent, would be just as informed, if not even more."

"Well, yes," Napoleon began to say and he didn't even know how his boss could make him feel, with just those words, like a schoolkid. It hadn't occurred to him that it would be part of Waverly's obligations to know what transpired through the UNCLE corridors, but now that the man pointed out its importance, it made much sense: what kind of advantage would the organization have if it didn't have the basic notions as to the affairs of its own employees. "It just happens to be that most of my fellow agents have been quite secretive about those rumors involving me and my partner."

"Hasn't Mr. Kuryakin been aware of these rumors since he began working with you?" The old man asked, taking out his pipe from the left drawer and going through the motions to light it up.

Napoleon on his part was too much troubled by the last statement to care about the pipe, his eyes opening wide and his jaw going slack as he listened. "Illya knew?"

"Of course he did. He had recently joined our ranks when they began, and thanks to his reserved nature, he was the perfect target for office gossip, not to mention a few… untasteful comments from a couple of our agents, but those have already been taken care of. It was Mr. Kuryakin's request that you wouldn't be troubled with those things." Waverly gave him the last piece of information before Napoleon had a chance to speak again, the man clearly knowing that his top agent would get outraged to hear about the way some of their own people reacted to Illya becoming an UNCLE agent. An understandable consideration, since Waverly was well aware of Napoleon's protectiveness towards his partner, which seemed to had been there almost right from the start.

"And the rumors about us being… intimately acquainted?"

"How so?" The old man asked, taking a long drag from his pipe and looking intently at the agent.

And Napoleon, being the man of world he was, hated his boss in that moment more than he had in the past six years.  A deep sigh, a hand through his hair and an uncomfortable shift in his seat later, he decided to cut the chase and explain the matter as simply as possible, even if the rumor now, compared to whatever had been circulating when Illya first joined UNCLE, seemed to lose importance. "About Illya and I… sleeping together."

Waverly raised an eyebrow in confusion, not really following his line of thought. "But you _do_ sleep together, it's the policy when we are on a tight budget for all UNCLE teams. I don't see how that is a troublesome rumor."

"Well, yes. But they imply our relationship goes beyond the strictly professional."

"As far as I know, it does. It has been the subject of discussion on many of Section One meetings. Some officials have expressed their concern at times that the devotion you show for your partner may hinder your ability to do your job properly, but everyone has been quite accepting of the two of you since it had been proven that, no matter the nature of your relationship, you have not forgotten about your obligations. In fact, it has improved your performance scores and the success rate of your missions, which quite frankly I considered an impossible task to achieve. Mr. Kuryakin's presence has proven to be quite a good motivator for you, Mr. Solo, that's why I keep the two of you close."

Dumbfounded didn't even begin to cover the way Napoleon felt after the older man had spoken. So his relationship with his partner had been the subject - and worry - of many a meeting. No wonder everyone around the office kept those rumors alive. Just as April had informed him, it had been the higher ups who had been messing around with this campaign of misinformation, but he hadn't believed her. Now he owed her an apology and probably enough money for three therapy sessions for poor Mark after the hard spot he had put him into. But there was no time for him to dwell on which way he had to make amends with his fellow agents, when there were still things to clear up.

"Excuse me, sir. You said 'it does'?" The top agent was still untangling all the information, blinking a few times as his brain tried to keep up with all the mess.

"Mr. Solo, would you say your relationship with Mr. Kuryakin is strictly professional?" The old man asked in reply, which to be honest was a low blow, even for him.

"Well,  no. I consider Illya to be my best friend."

"Then I am right."  
"Yes, but - "

"And you do live together in the same building; after all, I suggested for it to be that way."

Napoleon found himself to be moving his mouth without breathing and his brows arched in confused surprise. "That is true, too. But what they say is we are -"

"Do you find what they say of your relationship offensive in any way?" Waverly asked bluntly, entwining his fingers over the papers over the desk, watching Napoleon directly into his eyes and the younger man's mind came to an abrupt halt. "If what they say is a lie, what importance would it hold? And in the case it was true, would it be any different from telling the weather?"

Several seconds later, with both men staring at each other as the gears inside Napoleon's head started working again, the agent came to the astonishing realization that no, it wasn't offensive and no, it held no real importance at all.

"No, I don't think so, sir." The agent replied finally, the words even surprising himself.

Waverly on his part seemed quite please with the reply, a tranquil smile appearing on his lips.

"Good," the old man said finally. "I have made a life following very strong principles which lead me to firmly believe that every good person deserves to find happiness, no matter in which form. I am glad to know you will stand for the same principles when the time comes. Now, if you have no other questions, I believe it is time for both of us to get back to work."

Excusing himself out of the office, and making his way to his own, Napoleon thought that his perspective had probably shifted from the moment Mr. Waverly mentioned the existence of rumors regarding Illya's presence at UNCLE. There was no way anything else would be as important in his mind now that he knew there was something that had granted his superior's direct action; distantly, he thought if the man had commented on it to get his mind from the current gossip. Quickly he shook his head to dismiss the thought. That would be _too_ cunning even for Mr. Waverly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well... Isn't it fun? Napoleon just found the source of the rumors, but still there seem to be a lot more questions than answers this time. Who's running the bets? Who gets the oatmeal and raisins cookies for Waverly? Is Mark ever going to be allowed to get out of the office after April is done with him? And where in the world is Carmen Sandiego - I mean, Illya Kuryakin, in the middle of all this?


	6. Act VI

**_"You look troubled. Did they lose your suit at the dry cleaner again?"_ **

Was the cheerful greeting Illya Nickovitch Kuryakin gave to his partner as the man entered their office, an evident gloom atmosphere hanging over him like a cloak. The Russian was working on some paperwork, his eyeglasses on his nose and a fountain pen loosely between his fingers. It was always funny to find him wearing those glasses that Napoleon knew for a fact did nothing to improve his vision; he had yet to find out why he wore them, but that was a conversation that would have to be left for another time. Right now, more pressing matters were at hand, Napoleon reminded himself as he took his seat at his own desk, his eyes never leaving his partner through the whole motion.

The blond agent must had sensed his uneasiness, for he left the pen on top of the papers and focused his whole attention towards his partner.

"I believe you are not in the mood for jokes. Are you alright? "

"Illya," the American started to say, sighing as if to gather strength but at the same time letting go of a heaviness he didn't know he was holding onto. "We've been partners for several years, haven't we?"

A crooked eyebrow and a serious expression were suddenly part of his reply as Kuryakin blinked and stared at him.

"Yes."

"And if, during these past years, there had been anything that bothered you, either about our relationship or the our fellow agents, you would have told me, wouldn't you?" Napoleon knew he was being unfair, bringing up something as serious at the time without a single warning, but he couldn't stop the words from getting out his mouth.

The blond agent blinked once again, his sight never leaving his partner, not really knowing where the conversation was heading to.

"Without a doubt," he answered honestly after a couple of seconds, not a trace of hesitation in his voice.

A long sigh left Napoleon's lips as he rested back on his chair, both hands scrubbing his face.

"Then why didn't you tell me about the rumors before? You were aware of them, _all of them_ , right from the start. But you never said a word. You should have; I could have - "

"Napoleon," Illya stopped his rambling and took off his glasses, his voice calm and soft, the same way it always was when it was just the two of them together speaking casually in his apartment, listening to some jazz record he had recently acquired. Napoleon swallowed hard. "I didn't mention any of the rumors before because they were not important. I assure you, you know everything that bothers me about our job. The rumors surrounding me are not something I cannot deal with."

"Then why did you tell me about that rumor, about the two of us? Does it bother you that much, when the others didn't?" The American agent asked the question with a slightly offended tone, and the Russian couldn't help but smile fondly at that, which only increased the other's confusion.

"I only mentioned it because you had been complaining all week about secretaries not paying attention to you, I thought it was only fair if you knew what the reason for your unhappiness really was."

"But if the rumor have been spreading around right from the start, why would they be worrying about it now, of all times?" Napoleon inquired, his brain refusing to wrap around the idea.

The Russian shrugged, the smile not fading from his lips. "Who knows? Someone must have said something that made the rumor take strength."

A spark of realization ignited in Napoleon's mind the moment Illya spoke the words. "Oh no, Vienna..."

"I am sorry?"

"That time in Vienna, when Mister Waverly went to the hotel to speak with us."

It was Illya's turn to shift nervously on his seat. "You surely don't believe him capable of  - "

"Well, he said that - "

The dark haired man stopped on his tracks, his face suddenly feeling warm and he turned his face away.  His boss had somehow admitted he had been doing his best to keep them together, but exactly what 'together' meant for the old man was still a mystery to Napoleon, and surprisingly to voice out the most probable connotation of the word had turned him into a shy man.

"What did he say? Napoleon?"

"The report we gave them, uh… never mind. Probably one of the secretaries overheard something and interpreted it the wrong way. That's all." Napoleon breathed heavily and finally turned his eyes back to his partner, who had been staring with a curious and, dared he think, shy look on his face. Their eyes locked for a moment, with Napoleon swallowing hard until he managed to clear his throat and turn his attention to the papers at his desk. "Anyway, I believe I won't be having a date with any of the girls in the office until it dies out."

"As if a simple rumor has ever stopped the charming Napoleon Solo from getting a date," Illya added, his tone back to its usual aloofness and his glasses back on his face, although a faint shade of pink spread now over his cheeks. His partner stared at him for a few more seconds, wondering if he should comment on that particular fact or not, and instead watched Illya turn back to the papers on his desk.

"Well, it seems my evening is clear. Would you want to join a lonely fellow up for dinner?"

The Russian smiled faintly without looking up. "Of course, you owe me after pouring salt on my coffee yesterday."

"It's not my fault your containers have no labels, partner."

In that moment, they could hear shouting coming from the hallway out of their office, the sound of two persons quickly rushing through it reaching their ears as well.

"MARK, FOR GOD'S SAKE, YOU OWE ME A NEW PAIR OF STILETTOS!"

And somehow, Napoleon Solo knew, even with some rumors everything was good with the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it is over... but wait, is that a sequel that I am seeing from afar?


End file.
